“What the hell, Alex?” My heart rate is increasing to an immeasurable BPM.
“My dear,” I plaster a sugary smile on my face, “I don’t remember being consulted about bringing a puppy into this house. I know I’m pregnant and my brain is shrinking on a daily basis, but I would like to think I would have remembered that conversation.” Or at least I hope so.
“No, you’re right. I didn’t ask you because it would have been pointless. You would’ve shot it down without even listening. Just like you do when I approach you with anything having to do with the girls. They need this, Alex.”
What? I do not. Do I?
And, for the record, I love puppies. Only evil people don’t like puppies and kittens. If he would have bothered to ask me, he would have known this. But I’m much too pissed right now to approach the problem in a civil manner.
“Nice, Blake! Is that what you’re teaching my girls? To avoid issues and confrontation? To just do what you want without considering the feelings of anyone else involved?”
Blake balls his fists tightly, as though refraining from punching a hole in our brand new wall. His face turns a deeper shade of red, his jaw muscles working overtime as he clenches his teeth in anger.
“The puppy stays, Alex. End of story.” We stare at each other for at least a minute. No words are said. Just the glares of two very, very angry people. Tears begin pooling in my eyes out of pure fury; my body obviously looking for another outlet since I’m no longer yelling.
I look down at the red and gold corded rug that separates us. The physical distance between us may only be a few feet, but emotionally he might as well be in China. I exhale a defeated breath.
Raising my head to look at Blake, a single tear runs down my cheek while I speak.
“Fine. I have a new house and a new baby and a new husband who just does things on a whim, without even discussing them with me. Sure, I guess I can take care of a new puppy, too. Why not, right? Did you even bother to think, for one minute, about how much time I don’t have for house-training and feeding him four times a day and whatever else it may require?”
Anger overtakes Blake’s face as I watch it turn a lovely shade of purple. His boots pound the floor, anger driving him forward until he’s standing right in front of me.
“Bullshit, Alex. I did think about it, and that’s exactly why I got it. Your girls, as you insist on calling them, need to learn to be accountable for their actions and should have some type of responsibility. They need to have chores. They should be learning how to do things. Not only picking up their rooms, but around the house too. It’s good for them. They need that.” I roll my eyes, releasing more tears.
They do things…kind of.
Blake continues his rant, his expression still saturated with outrage. “So no, it doesn’t fall on you. It falls on them, as the responsibility that I give them since you refuse to give them any at all.”
“Bla—”
“Kyndall is eight years old and you still fucking tie her shoes, Alex!” I wince and take a rather large step away from him. He never swears like that at me. Ever.
“You coddle them. You’re exhausting yourself and it’s completely unnecessary. If you would teach them to clean up their own messes, instead of doing it yourself, something you seem to be dead set on these days, I guarantee you’ll find yourself a lot less worn out.” Rivers are now running down my face, but I hold his stare. Unable to speak, I watch as he turns to leave, but not before he delivers one last heartbreaking revelation.
“You’re so worried about what I’m teaching them?” He shakes his head in disgust. “Maybe you should spend more time worrying about what you’re not teaching them.”
Marching out of the living room towards the front door; his words hit me almost as hard as the door he slams on his way out.
With the house now empty, I’m left alone to cry alone...
In my brand new guest bathroom.
Over the next week, Blake and I say very little to each other. Even our doctor’s appointment, a moment which is supposed to be filled with excitement and joy, is tainted with evident anger and hostility. The only time we speak is when we’re around the girls.
Since it’s Saturday and the girls have left me for Tatum once again, I begin my weekend cleaning ritual. Walking through the kitchen, I see the full stainless steel food and water bowls that the girls stocked for the puppy earlier this morning. I smile at the hand-written feeding schedule on the dry erase board mounted above his eating area. With alternating initials for every day of the week, each girl is responsible for feeding him and giving him water according to what’s on the schedule. Of course, Nycole organized and structured the whole feeding program. It seems to be working out rather well.
Opening the door to the laundry room, I flip the light switch only to be reminded that the light is still burned out. Letting out an aggravated growl, I head back to the kitchen to get a light bulb out of the pantry and a chair from the breakfast table.
Sliding a new bulb in my new, handy dandy storage space…right between my breasts…I smile with self-satisfaction and lug the chair into the laundry room. Setting it down, I climb my very pregnant self onto the seat. Once I’m standing, I grab the bulb and stretch to reach the fixture. The chair wobbles a bit and I place my hand on its back to steady myself.
Scooting the seat a bit, I test the chair which seems to be stable now. In my second attempt, I reach upward standing on my tip toes and try to screw the light bulb into the socket. Just a little mo–
Suddenly, the chair teeters and my balance is thrown backward as it slides out from underneath my feet. I try to grab on as I begin to fall, but it’s just beyond my reach. I’m so screwed.
Just as I anticipate hitting the floor, a set of large familiar arms break my fall, catching me mid-flail. Realizing that he’s there, I throw my arms around his neck and let out a cry, both from fear and relief. I’m shaking so badly, I can barely keep my arms secured around him. After a long while, I manage to finally speak. “I’m alright, Blake. You can put me down.” I stick my nose in his neck and take a long whiff, his scent calming me instantly.
Once he sets me on my feet, I release my death grip and step back to look at my knight in shining armor. One look at his face tells me the only thing I need to know. He is definitely not pleased.
“Goddamn it, Alex! What the hell were you doing up there? You could’ve killed yourself! Jesus Christ!” he shouts, blue veins raised everywhere from the top of his forehead clear down to his neck.
I step back because I have never in my life seen him this angry. Ever. The puppy argument had nothing on this.
“I was…um, I…” I stumble over my words. “The light was, um, burned out. So, I was changing it?” I ask, hoping he finds my answer acceptable. I watch the puppy scamper out from underneath the couch and hightail it to, I’m assuming, his crate in the kitchen. As he runs to safety, I find myself second guessing my explanation.
“Wrong. Answer.” He turns and starts pacing wildly around the living room.
With him a little further away, I feel more comfortable speaking out loud. “I didn’t want to ask you for he—”